Strangers When We Meet
by Tom Beaumont
Summary: George said the wrong thing to Izzie last night, and she's got plans for him... Rated M for sexual content.


**Strangers When We Meet**

George O'Malley had spent all day wondering when it was going to happen. When the other shoe was going to drop. His nerves were jangled, his teeth were on edge.

Izzie was nowhere to be found. And that was really making him anxious.

Not because he was worried about her safety or health. Oh, no.

He was worried about himself.

The whole thing was silly, he tried to think. Silly. Because it was over nothing.

Last night, in bed. George and Izzie were talking through their day. It wasn't an unusual thing; in fact, it was really rather ordinary – she'd been in on an uneventful throat surgery to remove a cancerous tumor, he'd helped stitch up some kids who'd been peppered with glass in a car crash. And during all this talk, they laid under the blankets with their bodies intertwined, feeling each other's warm and loving touch. Kisses were exchanged, some short and sweet, some long and sweeter.

It was in the midst of the conversation, George recalled, that talk of new staff came up. The new oncologist from Pittsburgh ("Jackass," Izzie said), the new ER chief from Denver ("Creep," George said), and the new charge nurse from Phoenix.

"Seems nice," Izzie said. "And she's – cute – I guess."

"Yeah," George replied.

"'Course, she'll need to tone it down a little," Izzie added.

"Tone what down?" George asked.

"The flirting," Izzie said, batting her eyelashes with no little exaggeration. "I overheard some of the interns talking about her. And about your 'beautiful hands'."

"Yeah," George chuckled. "She was very complimentary."

"Sounded like it," Izzie said.

"She's new here," George laughed. "Trying to fit in, and fill Maxine's shoes. That's not going to be easy."

"Yeah, I suppose not," Izzie said, a little shrug in her voice. "I mean, Maxine – she was pretty great at that job. And it's going to take some time for – umm - "

"Adriana," George said.

"Is that her name?" Izzie asked.

This, George realized in the cold light of day, should have been the hint for him to end the conversation, or redirect it somehow. He should have touched Izzie's face, and kissed her lips, and changed the subject to something else. Anything else. But did that happen?** N. O.**

"Cute name for a cute girl, huh?" Izzie asked.

And before he had a chance to think about how to respond, George O'Malley said, "Yeah."

In his own defense, it was a general comment he'd made, nothing more. He wasn't leering or being lecherous. He was stating a fact. She was attractive. And that she had been kind of flirty with him the two times he'd dealt with her during his shift, well, he thought that was even sort of funny.

Izzie, on the other hand, merely blinked at him, and turned to stone. Rolled away from him. Wouldn't let him get near her.

Okay. So he was an idiot. He shouldn't have confirmed the rumor mill that had whipped the story into her ears. He shouldn't have be cavalier about what he saw as innocent comments. And sure as he was standing there, he shouldn't have laughed when Izzie started to get quiet. Now he was in trouble. Really in trouble.

_Deep, deep trouble._

And his so-called friends? Not a lick of help.

Cristina practically bit through her lip trying to hold back peals of laughter when he tried to talk to her. Meredith rotated her jaw so often that George was afraid it was going to dislocate. And Alex smacked him on the shoulder and muttered, "Nice work, dumbass," in a voice thick with mockery, and seasoned with sincerity.

Doomed. That's what George realized he was, while still knocking around the hospital, five minutes past the end of his shift. _**Doomed.**_

And that's when his pager went off. "**911**," it said. "**CLINIC**."

He had a thought run through his brain as he started down the hall: the clinic usually closed at eight. It was past nine now. There shouldn't be anyone there, and certainly not anyone in an emergent situation.

But no matter – his legs were already in motion, his pulse rate was up. And a 911 call had to be taken seriously every time. So there was no stopping now.

Just as he'd suspected, the clinic was dark when he arrived. He frowned at his reflection in the window glass, and felt a twinge of self-loathing zing through him. It was probably some practical joke being pulled on him; heck, maybe this was Izzie's way of getting back at him. He leaned his shoulder on the door and sighed, and when he did, his weight shifted against the steel.

When the door gave way with ease, the self-loathing was instantly replaced by a swirl of concern. He'd expected it to be locked. Maybe there really was an emergency. He stepped into the clinic waiting area, noticed a sliver of light in the distance and realized it was coming from one of the private exam rooms, so he started toward it.

"Hello?" George called, as he made a beeline for the light, raising a breeze that ruffled the curtains among the beds. And somehow, the way the room didn't make his voice echo only intensified his concern. The last twenty steps seemed to take forever, but he finally reached the exam room door, and pushed it open.

The room was immaculate. A place for everything, and everything in its place. George stood in the empty space, listening to the hum of the overhead lighting, and feeling that zing once again.

Then, from behind, he heard the door opening again, and a soft swishing.

George turned - and as soon as he did, his eyes widened.

Izzie stood before him, her golden hair in full flow. A skin-tight white Spandex dress with red piping. White thigh-high stockings. Dangerously high stiletto heels. "Hello, Doctor," she said, her voice whispery. Kittenish. Intoxicating. "You got the page," she continued.

George's eyes were drawn to the plunge of her neckline, and the way the dress shaped her. "Umm," he said.

"Can you help me?" she asked, putting an index finger between her cherry-red lips, and biting the tip ever so slightly. "I'm new here, and I just don't know what to do." Izzie took a step forward, her eyes locked on his, her body tantalizingly close. "I heard you're just the doctor to...**_fill me in_**."

"Umm," he replied, trying to take a step back, but finding himself backing into the exam table. "I – "

"I've also heard about your bedside manner," she said, taking another step to him. Her eyes gleamed wildly. "I must say, I'm very curious to find out how you_**...****do it**_."

George's eyes couldn't leave Izzie. She was so…oh, she was so…_distracting_.

And that distraction was why he fell backwards onto the table, crinkling and tearing the paper underneath him, and then smacking the back of his head against the sheet rock wall.

"**Ow!**" George cried, mostly from the shock. His hands shot up to cradle his skull.

Izzie's high-pitched voice went away. "George?!" she asked, rushing to his side, a tinge of panic in her tone. "Are you okay?" She tugged at his forearms, trying to get a look at him.

He relented, and his arms fell away. His face was reddened and twisted with embarrassment. "No," he groaned. "I fell over. I hit my head."

"I noticed," she replied.

George grimaced. "I was scared all day," he confessed. "I said stupid stuff, and you were mad at me, and I thought you were staying out of sight 'cause you were still mad that I said stupid stuff, and instead… you're being all sexy and hot and making me all…you know…and what happens? I fell over, and I hit my head."

Izzie sighed sympathetically, and offered him a smile. "Does it hurt?" she asked.

"A little," George replied.

"Where?" Izzie wondered.

George noticed her voice turning whispery again. "Well…Nurse Izzie…the back hurts a little, but the front – that's what I'm really concerned about. That my muscles are going to tense up too much."

"What can I do to help you?" she replied, full breathiness back.

"Well," George said, "a good, thorough rubdown just might help."

"Oh. So I should massage your shoulders?" Izzie asked, putting her hands on him.

"Mm-hm," he exhaled, and a little giggle escaped.

"And your arms?" Her fingers slipped across his biceps.

"Yeah."

"And your chest?" Her palms smoothed across his pectorals.

"The whole torso, really."

"Among other places, maybe." Her hands slipped under the hem of his scrub top.

George let out a shivery sigh as he felt her fingers graze across his skin. "There are just so many muscle groups, and they have to work together to really…mmm…"

"Hm," Izzie said, leaning her body against his. "Maybe then…you need to show me."

"Yeah," George whispered. "This is a teaching hospital, after all."

Izzie stood up and unhooked the clasp that kept the front zipper honest. Once freed, the zipper opened an inch or so, exposing more than a hint of her creamy skin. She looked at the hardened organ that was straining against his scrub pants, and a smile lit her face. She beckoned for George to sit up, which he did, like an eager puppy. He reached an arm around her body, and used his other hand to slowly unzip the dress, releasing her.

His lips brushed against her bared skin, and she let out a brisk sigh. "Doctor George?" she whispered.

"Yes, Nurse Izzie," he replied between soft kisses.

"Promise me something."

"What?" he asked, tugging the tight dress off her hips, then smoothing his fingers across that warm and awakened flesh.

"It's nothing big, but I'd appreciate it," she said.

"Name it," he whispered, kissing her gently below the bellybutton.

"Next time, you wear the outfit," she said.

He chuckled, and smiled into her stomach. Then he looked up, and into her eyes. "Would I have to wear the shoes?" he asked.

"No," she replied with a smile.

George breathed a bit, and pressed a few wet kisses on to Izzie's trembling skin. Then he said, "Deal," and a very large smile spread across his face (and hers), as he went back to his nurse's anatomy lesson.

**The End**


End file.
